What You Want
by bingblot
Summary: "Just do whatever you wanna do. You always do anyway." "What if I told you that what I want to do is you?" An AU insert for 2x5 "When the Bough Breaks." Two-shot smut.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you a little Valentine's Day gift of smut. A two-shot AU insert for 2x5 "When the Bough Breaks." Enjoy!

**What You Want**

_Chapter 1_

In more than three decades of life, Richard Castle had said a lot of stupid things but this was the absolutely positively stupidest thing he had ever said.

It was just… Beckett. She got under his skin, she made him crazy, made him stupid. Made him want… things. Oh fine, made him want her.

And he was just so _irritated_ with her for standing right in front of him—so damn close and yet so far—looking hotter and sexier than any woman he'd ever seen in her electric blue dress, her legs going on for miles and baring so much of her cleavage that he considered it a minor miracle that he was even able to keep his eyes focused anywhere else.

And would it kill her to act even a little bit flattered that she'd inspired him to write Nikki Heat and called her extraordinary for the entire world to see but no, Kate Beckett didn't feel flattered. "Do you have any idea how much grief I've had to put up with over this Nikki Heat thing?"

"Gee, I'm sorry," he clipped out sarcastically because really, he had women—hell, some men too—coming up to him and begging to be put into one of his books as a character. And now when he'd made Beckett the main character, the star, of one of his books, she just—

"I'm not asking you to be sorry," she retorted. "I'm just… Just do whatever you wanna do. You always do anyway."

And that was when his brain—what little he had left of it after seeing Beckett tonight—lost control of his mouth, the fizzing irritation and the always simmering lust getting the better of him. "What if I told you that what I want to do is you?"

Wait, what, had he just said that out loud? To Kate Beckett's face?

_Oh god, oh god, I'm gonna die. _

She blinked and stared, her jaw going a little slack as she jerked back in shock. "What the–are you—you can't just—" she spluttered. He had never seen the cool, poised Detective Beckett so flustered or at such a loss for words and she was kind of (definitely) adorable and hot (she was always hot) when she was flustered. "What did you say?" she finally managed a full sentence.

He should have backtracked, apologized, claimed she'd misheard him (ha, fat chance), should have said just about anything other than what he actually found spilling out of his mouth. "You heard me."

_Yup, dead, I am so dead. _

"Are you out of your mind?" she hissed.

So now he was crazy to want her, crazy to think that someone like her might want him too? Who the hell did she think she was? And he knew—_knew_—that she was attracted to him and why the hell she couldn't admit it was beyond him. But no, Kate Beckett never admitted anything, just turned him down flat more than once and teased him before walking away and—

If he was going to die anyway, then he was damn well going to die for a good reason. And not in public at his own launch party.

He latched a hand onto her wrist making her rear back in surprise but before she could so much as slap him or maim him, he hauled her with him, using the bodily strength he had never ever exhibited before her before and likely never would again. Because he'd be dead because she was going to murder him with her bare hands.

He did retain enough sanity to flash fake reassuring smiles at the people whose gazes he caught watching him, tried to make it look as if he wasn't pulling the real Nikki Heat against her will since she was following, probably because she was still deciding how to murder him. He thought—hoped—the smiles worked because he didn't need headlines tomorrow on how he'd assaulted the NYPD detective who happened to be the inspiration for his new book.

He caught sight of a door and pulled her through it to find themselves in a hallway, attracting some more attention, before he caught sight of another door, nicely tucked away into a corner and veered for it, hauling her with him into what looked to be some sort of coat closet—that worked—before he slammed the door and faced her.

Oh, yeah, she was angry. He didn't think he'd ever seen her so angry, her eyes spitting sparks.

"What the hell, Castle! You can't just haul me into a closet and insult me and—"

"Insult you!" And she called him crazy? "How the hell have I insulted you?! I called you extraordinary!"

"Oh please, you just dragged me into a closet like one of your bimbos! And you act like I should fall on my knees in gratitude because you decided to turn me into some two-dimensional stripper cop straight out of your puerile fantasies!"

"Nikki Heat is not two-dimensional! She might be the best character I've ever written!" Nikki _was_ the best character he'd ever written, he was abruptly sure of that. Her fierce determination, her strength of character, mingled in with that edge of vulnerability, her sense of compassion—she was complex, fascinating.

"If she's so amazing, why don't you want to write about her anymore?"

"I never said I didn't! _You're_ the one who acted as if having me base a character on you was such a terrible chore and you can't wait to be rid of me!"

They were toe to toe, facing off, and he could feel the anger and the heat of her body. She looked dangerous, her eyes dark and flashing, her breathing shallow, her cheeks flushed.

_God, she was so freaking hot. _

And then, as if she'd read his mind or something, she was kissing him. Or maybe he had kissed her, he honestly wasn't sure, and it was possible that he'd been the one to make the first move since he'd only thought about kissing her about a million times a day since the day he'd met her.

And then he stopped thinking, his brain exploding, because whoever had started it, she was _into it. _ Her hands were in his hair, holding him in place as if he had any intention of going anywhere (ever again) as she all but attacked his mouth, her tongue surging into his mouth. She was so hot and so fierce, nipping at his lip, and oh god, he liked it, he really really liked it.

He wrapped his arms around her, his hands finally finally getting to touch her amazing body and he heard a strangled moan trapped deep in her throat that he swore went straight to his groin. One of his hands slipped down the curve of her waist and down to her ass—he blamed the slippery-sleek fabric of the dress, really—and then his fingers found the hot smooth skin of her taut thigh, the short, tight skirt having crept up because—oh yeah, he might have slipped his thigh between her legs. When had that happened?

She was rocking against him, pressing her body against his, as she tugged him infinitesimally closer, and then curled her tongue around his in a way that had a super-charged jolt of lust sizzling down his spine and tore a groan from his throat as he returned the favor, taking control of the kiss—or trying to—because Kate Beckett wasn't ceding control without a fight. (Did she ever?) And holy hell, he'd always thought they would be compatible physically but not even his hottest fantasies had come close to doing justice to the reality of Kate Beckett in his arms, the intimate press of her body against his. She rolled her hips against him and sucked on his tongue and it was official that she was the sexiest woman ever—although at the moment, he couldn't quite remember that any other woman existed in the world.

No, there was only her and she wanted him and he was so far beyond turned on it was almost painful as she ground herself against him and—

There was a knock on the door and then the sound of a strident and way too familiar voice demanding, "Rick Castle, get your ass out of there."

Paula. Oh shit.

Beckett tore herself away from him and he tried and failed not to stare at her like some lovesick (okay, lovesick and horny) teenager because she looked amazing, gorgeously flushed, her lips swollen, her pupils blown, dark with desire.

And yeah, that was because of _him_. He felt a surge of primitive triumph mingling in with the lust and encroaching self-consciousness because he'd _known_ she wanted him too and for the moment, that made up for the fact that his agent was standing right outside the door, no doubt suspecting exactly what he and Beckett had been up to.

Shit, he'd almost had sex in a coat closet at his own launch party. What the hell had he been thinking? Easy answer, he hadn't been thinking.

Castle managed to cudgel enough brain cells into working to raise his voice a little to be heard on the other side of the door. "I'll be right out." He turned his attention back to Beckett, who was now blushing furiously as she looked anywhere but at him.

She was adorable.

"Kate," he began, not that he really had any idea what he was going to say.

His use of her first name at least made her look at him, her eyes flying up to meet his, as she tugged her lower lip between her teeth in what he'd noticed was one of her characteristic gestures when she was feeling uncertain (or wanted to tease him) and that was not helping because all that made him want to do was kiss her again. And again and again for, oh, the next year or ten or forever.

His thoughts had been derailed and she got tired of waiting for him because she began, "Castle, I—"

He quirked his eyebrows at her, a renegade spurt of amusement breaking through his fog of rampant lust and incipient awkwardness. "I think you can call me Rick since you were just executing an enthusiastic search warrant on my mouth."

She choked on a laugh even as the color flared brighter in her cheeks and he allowed himself a smirk. He didn't feel like analyzing just why he always felt so ridiculously thrilled when he managed to make Kate Beckett laugh. What he could say, less crassly this time, was, "I meant what I said. I want you. And whatever you might think, I don't just want you for a one-night stand. I—" He hesitated, inwardly writhing, but he was going for broke now—go big or go home, right?—and he couldn't help but feel encouraged because, well, she wasn't shutting him up or maiming him and she had just been kissing him, very enthusiastically, and if he knew anything at all about Kate Beckett, it was that she didn't just go around kissing random men and she didn't do one-night stands. After all, wasn't that why she'd turned him down more than once? "I like you." A lot, but he left that unsaid. That way lay too much vulnerability. "I think you're extraordinary," he repeated.

That word got to her, her expression softening, becoming almost… shy, if that word wasn't so utterly inappropriate for Detective Kate Beckett. Maybe, 'receptive' was better, and pleased. The way she'd looked earlier when she read the dedication.

Paula rapped sharply on the door again and he huffed a sigh. His agent was _pushy_. It made her good at her job but damn if it wasn't also annoying as hell sometimes.

"I need to get back out there but, um, don't leave? And when I'm done making nice, maybe we can get a drink or something? If you want to, that is." Not the smoothest invitation he'd ever issued but this was Kate Beckett and if this evening proved anything, it was that she had a way of stripping him of any game he'd ever had. She made him stupid. (She also made him, well, better, but he didn't dwell on that.)

For a moment, she just stared at him, unsmiling, and he was abruptly terrified that she was going to say no, that no matter that she might be fine kissing him in the heat of the moment, she still didn't want anything to do with him personally once that moment was done.

And then—

"Okay," she agreed, a small smile playing on her lips.

Just one word but that was enough, more than enough. He forcibly controlled the size of his grin and, in the interest of not being maimed, he suppressed the urge to pump his fist in triumph. Kate Beckett had agreed to a drink and, if the past few minutes and her current expression were any indication, more than that with _him_!

He stepped in closer, hearing her breathing hitch, before he brushed his lips quickly over hers, not daring to linger or touch her anywhere else, and even just the quick touch of her lips was enough to get his blood humming again.

He forced himself to step back. "Until later, Beckett."

It took serious will power for him to turn away from her and leave but leave he did, having the presence of mind to swipe his hand over his mouth in case of any transferred lip gloss before slipping out of the closet with more discretion than he'd used to go into it. Only to almost walk right into Paula, who was all but tapping her foot on the ground in impatience.

"Finally," she latched onto his arm. "If you're done sucking face with the real Nikki Heat, you need to get back to doing the pretty. Some members of your fan club are waiting. And a reporter from _The Ledger_ was looking for you for a quote."

He didn't bother protesting her assumption of what he and Beckett had been doing because she wasn't wrong, even as he inwardly cringed at having it put so bluntly. _Get her out of your system_, Paula had said earlier—but he was abruptly very certain that no matter what, he was never getting Beckett out of his system. She'd been in his system since well before tonight and now that he'd kissed her, felt just how hot they could be together, he was hopelessly addicted. Addicted to her taste and to her passion, addicted to her razor-sharp cleverness and quick wit, just addicted to _her_. He was never getting her out of his system. He didn't even _want_ to get her out of his system.

He'd said he liked her. Which he did but that was the least of it. After the scorching passion of their kiss, he had no doubt that they would be great together physically but lust had always factored into his feelings for Beckett. It was everything else he felt, the way he'd felt like his heart might crack when he saw the tears glistening in her eyes as she told him about her mom's murder, her father's alcoholism. The way he'd felt something like jealousy curdling his insides when he saw her with Sorenson. The way he'd felt the sick twist in his chest at her stricken, devastated expression when he said, _It's about your mother_. The startling and somehow not at all startling realization of how much her smiles, her occasional laughs, meant to him. How much he would do for her. He hadn't been deaf to the seriousness of Cannell's warning about the Russian mob—his tendencies to recklessness had been tempered by Alexis because he would never, ever willingly leave his daughter—but he'd realized that somehow, already, Beckett had joined the ranks of Alexis and his mother in the group of people for whom he would do just about anything.

But he couldn't think about that now.

"Yes, I know what my job is, Paula," was all he said. "Lead me to the reporter."

Paula led him back into the party while he consciously put on his Richard Castle, Celebrity persona. And tried to ignore the fact that it felt as if every cell in his body wanted to go back to Beckett. Even walking away from Beckett felt… wrong, as if he never wanted to be away from her. As if he belonged with her.

And that was the problem. He'd said he liked her. But it occurred to him that what he really meant was that he could love her. (Might already love her.)

Oh shit.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: This is a story I absolutely did not plan to write since I am in the middle of another story and I try not to get distracted mid-story but I saw the prompt by Lou from a while ago (the scene at the book party ends with Beckett saying "do whatever you want, you always do anyway," and he says, "fine," and does just that), and this fic barged into my brain and demanded to be written out. You can all blame (or thank, as the case might be) Castle and Beckett for being so forceful because, well, when they invade my brain, mine is not to question why, mine is but to write or die. (I think having Castle in my head makes me melodramatic.)

The smut is coming and will be posted on Valentine's Day.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: And now for the smut. Enjoy!

**What You Want**

_Chapter 2_

Kate fell back against the wall, her skin still buzzing with lingering arousal, her entire body hot. What the hell had just happened? What had she been thinking? Stupid question. She hadn't been thinking, that was all.

She'd kissed him. She'd kissed Castle. Oh, he hadn't been behind in responding and kissing her back so after the first split second, who was the kisser and who the kissee might be debated but she wasn't good enough at lying to herself not to admit that she was the one who had kissed him first.

She hadn't meant to! She hadn't thought at all and she could barely remember when she'd last been so angry and she would have tried to break his fingers to make him let go of her wrist if she hadn't been so aware that they were in a public place and then he'd hauled them into a closet of all places! It hadn't helped her mood any and she'd been ready to flay the skin off him but then, he'd been standing so close, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off his body and she could _smell_ him, the heady masculine scent of him mingled in with whatever expensive cologne he must use, and he looked unfairly good tonight in his expensive suit, all tall and broad-shouldered and with that hint of scruff. And really, no one as annoying as Rick Castle was had the right to be so damn sexy but he was and she could swear she hated him at that moment except she knew very well she didn't really hate him.

And for just a split second, even in his anger, his eyes had darted down to her mouth and she knew he wanted her—wanted to do her, as he'd so bluntly informed her and she still could not quite believe he had said that to her face like that-and she'd felt an absolutely involuntary jolt of responding lust. And before she'd even realized what she was doing, she'd closed the couple inches separating them and shut him up with her mouth.

She'd kissed him and pressed herself against him and, well, ridden his thigh—and she'd agreed to have a drink with him and she wasn't naive enough or deluded enough not to know that she'd agreed to a lot more than just one drink with him tonight. No, she was going to have sex with Castle tonight.

She felt a hot wash of heat flood her entire body just at the thought, anticipation already making her skin prickle, her core damp. Holy shit.

Castle, the irritating manchild who could be such a cocky jackass (albeit one who had a very nice ass, a voice in her mind spoke up and she tried to shut it up). Except he wasn't only that and really, that was why she'd agreed to a drink and more. Why, in spite of everything, she'd felt her stomach drop with disappointment at the news that he'd received the official offer and would (probably) be leaving. She should have been delighted—would have sworn she would be delighted—but instead, all she'd thought was that she didn't want him to go. As annoying as he was, he was also… helpful. He made her life—her _work,_ it was about work—more fun.

And he thought she was extraordinary. She felt her skin flush from more than just arousal at the thought, the memory, of his words, his look. He'd said he liked her. It should have been ridiculous—was ridiculous to react like this—made her feel rather like she'd been reduced to a teenage girl giggling over a boy _liking_ her. And yet… It didn't feel ridiculous or silly. Somehow, coming from Rick Castle, the multimillionaire who, she had no doubt, could be with any woman he wanted, the words meant more. He really liked _her_, Kate Beckett, a plain cop who worked for a living and who certainly didn't fawn over him the way any one of his fans did. From the way he'd looked at her, lustful and yet somehow tentative and hopeful too, he really liked her.

She bit her lip but knew a smile escaped her anyway. He liked her and she—oh fine, she kind of liked him too. (Kind of?)

She pushed herself upright, glanced down at herself and straightened her dress, before she ventured out of the closet. And how ridiculous was that, to be making out in a closet. In a very public place. God, what that man could make her do.

She thought—hoped—she was relatively unnoticed as she slipped back into the party. At least there were no cameras around. She stuck close to the wall for a while before venturing further inside, heading to the bar.

She really wasn't looking for him—she wasn't—but her eyes got snared by him anyway, standing almost halfway across the room, holding court in front of a no-doubt admiring coterie of fans. He had neatened his hair and straightened his suit and now looked once again every inch the dashing playboy man-about-town—and she felt a little lick of doubt, insecurity, because how was it possible that Richard Castle, rich celebrity, could want her for anything more than just one night?

But then his eyes met hers and she felt almost pinned in place, felt the intent and the heat of his gaze even from this distance, her nipples tightening in automatic reaction. She might not understand how or why exactly but she was suddenly sure (again) that he'd meant what he said earlier. He wanted her. More than that, he _liked_ her. This was really happening.

And she couldn't wait. (Oh god.)

The next hour or so seemed to pass in a blur. Kate spent some time chatting idly with Montgomery, Ryan, and Esposito (who commented "I think you forgot parts of your dress," in his role as her pseudo-older brother). She even found herself talking to—or really talked _at_ by a few fans, who declared themselves thrilled to be meeting the real Nikki Heat and after they'd ignored her feeble protest that she wasn't Nikki Heat, she'd given up and simply resorted to nodding and smiling and making a few anodyne comments.

But all the while, she was always conscious of Castle, of where he was, felt whenever his eyes were on her.

So she knew when he finally approached her, turned to meet him. And tried hard not to let her eyes fall immediately to his mouth. Tried and failed.

She dragged her eyes back up to his but not before she saw the faint beginnings of a smirk. She wanted to kiss it off him. Later, she told herself sternly. "Nice party," she said as blandly as possible.

"I think I've played nice for long enough." He suddenly looked a little less certain as he went on, "Do you, uh, want to go somewhere else to get a drink?"

She didn't know why but she felt a little tendril of warmth sprout up inside her. He wasn't sure if she might have changed her mind. Not for the first time, she wondered how much of the cocky playboy thing was real or just an act.

"Sure, I could go for a drink," she agreed, biting her lower lip and noting the immediate focusing of his attention, the darkening of his eyes.

Somewhat to her surprise, he didn't touch her, didn't rest his hand on her back or lower than that, as he escorted her outside.

"Black Pawn arranged for a private car for me but I sent Alexis home in it. I figure we can take a cab."

"That's fine," she agreed, knowing her voice had softened a little at his mention of Alexis because the father side of him was the one she might like the most, was the side of him that had first made her question whether his cocky jackass act was just that, an act.

He hailed a cab and helped her inside. Before he could turn to her or give the driver a destination, she forestalled him by giving the driver her own address.

Beside her, she sensed Castle stiffen a little. "Kate, I wasn't—"

She shut him up by moving her hand to rest on his thigh, not touching him anywhere more intimate (not yet) and met his eyes directly, even though she felt her cheeks flushing. "We both know what's going to happen so why pretend?"

He smiled, his eyes lighting with sparks of lust and something warmer than that. "Whatever you say, Detective."

The cab started to move and even though she was severely tempted, in the interest of not getting arrested for public indecency, Kate kept her hand from wandering, just let it rest where it was just above his knee. And was thankful that he apparently understood because he didn't try kissing her or touching her intimately himself either. All he did do was close his hand around hers and then, slowly, very slowly, proceeded to trace her fingers with his, his touch light and amazingly erotic, sending jolts of heat streaking up her arm to pool low in her stomach. She gasped a little and suppressed the urge to squeeze her thighs together. Oh god, if just having him touch her hand was doing this to her, having him touch her more intimately might actually kill her. But she was going to enjoy every second of it.

It felt like a short eternity before they arrived at her apartment and finally made it inside. To the privacy of her own apartment.

Her door was barely closed before she trapped him against it, diving in to kiss him again, deep and hot, the way she'd wanted to since the first time they'd kissed earlier—the way she'd wanted to kiss him for a lot longer than that.

She swallowed his soft gasp of surprise and then he was sliding his hands down to cup her butt through the fabric of her dress and then further to grasp her thighs and it was her turn to gasp into his mouth as he lifted her into his arms. God, he was strong. How had she never realized how strong he was? And what did that mean for the muscles he must be concealing beneath his button downs?

"Bedroom?" he gasped.

"That way." She jerked her head to point down the hall as she wrapped her arms and her legs around him, stringing kisses along the line of his jaw.

She nipped lightly at his Adam's apple and he groaned and then got his own revenge as he let one of his hands slip from her thighs to slide between her legs. Oh god. She moaned as his fingers teased over the wet scrap of silk.

"God, you're so wet," he husked.

Any reply she might have made was lost on a choked cry as his fingers had pushed aside the scrap of her underwear and finally touched her skin, the wet center of her, almost but not quite where she wanted him.

They had finally reached her bedroom and he dropped her onto the mattress—or at least, he tried to but she didn't loosen her grip on him and he ended up toppling over on top of her as they landed in an awkward heap on her bed, one of his legs between her thighs, the bulge in his pants pressed against her lower abdomen.

She gasped and he groaned before he levered himself off of her, until he was kneeling on her bed. Still fully clothed, up to his jacket. Well, that wasn't going to work. She wanted him naked.

"Clothes. Off, now," she ordered.

"So bossy, Beckett." He smirked at her as he shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it aside before discarding his shoes and socks.

She undid the clasp of her dress and managed to wriggle out of it, leaving her in only her necklace and the tiny scrap of navy blue silk that was her underwear. It occurred to her to be very glad that she'd decided to wear equally sexy underwear to go with her dress even if it had never occurred to her that anyone, let alone him, would be seeing her underwear tonight. He made a choking sound as he stared, his hands falling idle in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt.

And then in another second, she was completely naked, her necklace and her underwear gone. While he was still mostly dressed.

Well, fine, if he was going to be so slow about undressing… She lay back on her bed, letting her hand trail lightly down her stomach, past her navel, and down until she was almost touching herself, her fingers not quite brushing over her wet center.

He choked and then erupted into a flurry of impatient movement, making quick work of his shirt and then his pants and boxers. See what a little teasing could do as incentive.

She barely had a second to stare—which was too bad because he was well worth staring at—his chest broad and toned and solid, and oh, he hadn't been kidding at all about his claims being on the large side. Large. _God, yes. _

She had no more time to think or appreciate because he was crawling up her bed to her, his mouth immediately closing around her nipple as his hand cupped her other breast, kneading it and then pinching her nipple. She groaned and slid her hands into his hair to hold him in place because, oh god, the workings of his tongue and mouth on her sensitized nipple… He was good.

She released a little whine of protest when he released her nipple from his mouth, leaving a trail of soft damp kisses down her stomach, pausing to dart his tongue into her navel. "You're so gorgeous," he husked against her skin, his low, throaty voice sinking into her skin, fresh arousal tingling through her body.

"Cas—tle," she moaned, the two syllables of his name truncated by a little gasp she couldn't help as he chose that moment to slide his hand between her legs, his fingers teasing lightly, so lightly, over her wet center, but never quite touching her where she wanted, needed, him to be.

He slid further down, pressing soft kisses that could only be described as tender to the skin of her thighs, the faint hint of stubble on his jaw scraping along her skin. _Oh oh god…_

This wasn't just sex, she thought hazily, he was _making love_ to her. There was too much care, too much tenderness, in his touch.

The thought had her managing to lift her head to stare down at him and he paused for a moment to dart his eyes up to her, and her breath strangled in her throat, something like fear touching her heart because even with all the lust in his eyes, there was also emotion, so much emotion that she was absolutely not ready to see…

And then his mouth was on her, between her legs, and her head fell back on a breathless cry. The first swipe of his tongue against her stole not only her breath but her sanity and she forgot everything else except for the workings of his lips and his tongue and his teeth and then his fingers pressing against her just right and she was writhing helplessly and crying out and just... _done_. She sagged back onto the mattress, limp and breathless, replete.

When she drifted back to full awareness, it was to find him lying beside her, one hand resting on her stomach, his hard length nudging her thigh. And the look on his face, in his eyes, had her breath and her heart stuttering in her chest all over again. He was looking at her as if… it wasn't just lust or liking but so much more than that.

"Kate," he breathed and his tone was too… awed. This wasn't the cocky playboy.

It was terrifying. And she suddenly couldn't bear it, had to distract him, change the mood.

She reached out with her hand to close around him, making his hips jerk. "My turn," she said, tossing him a smirk, before she made good on her word.

She cupped, explored him with her hand, stroked the length of him first with her fingers and then with her tongue, making him groan and pant. She licked and then took him into her mouth and sucked, curling her tongue around him, until he jerked and gently pushed her away.

"No," he choked, "inside you."

He started to shift as if to switch positions but she pushed him back and rose on her knees to straddle him. His hips jerked but before she could sink down, he caught her hips in his hands.

"Protection?" he gasped.

"I'm safe and clean."

"Me too. You're sure?"

He had a reputation and she normally insisted on protection but at this point, she was far beyond caring. And she trusted him. She didn't have a chance to try to consider the ramifications of that because his hips shifted again, his length nudging against her, and she couldn't resist any longer, sank down onto him, as he filled her, stretched her.

He groaned and she cried out. God, he felt _amazing._

His hips were rocking up into her slowly, oh so slowly, and she couldn't bear how… careful he was being, so much care in his movements. She was afraid of letting him turn this into something much more like tender lovemaking than sex, something meaningful, and she took over, rising up and then slamming down again, moving faster, harder.

He met and matched her movements as they found a rhythm with an ease that shouldn't have been possible but somehow happened, their bodies seemingly attuned to each other.

His hands found her breasts, his thumbs pressing against her nipples, and she cried out, her spine arching as she pressed herself into his hands. And then Castle levered himself up as her hands found purchase on his shoulders, and the change in angle drove him deeper into her.

The coiling tension snapped and all she could do was cling to him, burying her face in his throat as she rode out the spasms of dizzying pleasure, only peripherally aware of his hips jerking beneath her as he followed her over the edge into bliss.

Castle slumped backwards onto the mattress and she followed, too spent to consider moving even if she wanted to.

Their chests were sealed together and she could feel the pounding of his heart in time with hers and somehow that almost felt more intimate than anything else, this sharing of heartbeats and sweat and breath. She felt him sift gentle fingers through her hair, the idle caress so very tender she felt a strange mix of terror and longing.

As the sheen of sweat dried on their bodies, their heartbeats slowing, something like coherence returned to her and she remembered that he was done with Nikki Heat, was leaving—wasn't he?

The thought had a tiny shiver going through her and they were close enough that he felt it and appeared to take it as a sign of discomfort, of getting cold, and he carefully shifted onto his side, easing himself out of her, even as he cupped her head to gently urge her to pillow it against his shoulder. And she did, even though she tried to tell herself she shouldn't, could not get too used to this sort of closeness if he was going to be leaving. He reached down to tug the comforter up over them and then resettled his arms around her, holding her tucked into his side.

This didn't feel like he was leaving.

"Are you going to leave?" _Leave me_ was what she left unsaid.

"I don't have to. I told Alexis and my mother I'd probably be out tonight."

That hadn't been what she meant. She wondered how it was that their bodies could be so apparently attuned to each other, how he could know exactly how and where to touch her and she seemed to know how to touch him, and yet still be so bad at communicating with words. He was a writer and okay, fine, so she wasn't the best at talking about what she felt but she wasn't stupid either. They really needed to get better at talking with actual words.

"I meant, leave the precinct." And her, but referring to the precinct was easier, safer.

His body tensed just a little, no longer quite so lax beneath her. "I don't want to leave." He paused. "I haven't accepted the other offer."

"Are you going to?"

There was a pause and she felt a sense of déjà vu because hadn't they had this exchange already? But then he changed it. "Do you know what Paula, my agent, said to me at the party?"

Huh, what? She didn't know what his pushy agent had to do with anything, aside from the obvious that she'd been the one to interrupt them in the closet.

"No, what did she say?"

"She said that I should sleep with you and get you out of my system. And I—"

What? She stiffened, a chill spreading inside her, as she rolled away from him—or tried to because his arms locked around her, preventing her from going anywhere, and as she now knew, he was strong enough to win out when it came to sheer physical strength. She stopped fighting but kept her body stiff, kept as much distance between them as she could. "Is that what this was? Getting me out of your system?" she asked, her voice rising, becoming sharp. Because there was no way in hell she was going to show him how hurt she was. And clearly, she'd been imagining that the tenderness in his touch had anything to do with real emotions. He was just too good in bed, no doubt the result of all his experience, she thought bitterly. Probably every woman he went to bed with ended up believing he was in love with—wait, she slammed a halt on her thoughts. Why the hell did she care? She hadn't wanted him to be in l—to care about her, anyway!

"No! Damn it, Beckett, will you stop expecting the worst of me and just listen!"

Figures, even after having the hottest sex of her life, they still couldn't keep from fighting. She felt the prick of stupid tears in the back of her eyes and savagely blinked them back.

"What I was going to say was that I realized I don't want you out of my system. You're already in my system and I don't want that to change. I want you, I think I've made that clear." For the first time, humor tinged his tone, softening it.

She choked on something that might have been a laugh. Damn it, how did he do this, manage to make her laugh at a time like this? "Yeah, I did get that impression," she managed to say dryly. She'd gotten the impression that he wanted a lot more than sex too and she was starting to feel an ember of hope kindling.

"I don't know what's going to happen with Bond or with Nikki Heat but whatever happens, I don't want to leave you. I'm not going to leave you."

"Oh." She tried (and failed) to bite back a smile. The last remaining bits of tension in her body dissolved, leaving her once again pliant and draped over him. And since he'd admitted so much, she made an admission of her own. "I don't want you to leave."

"Good. I'm glad." His hand shifted to cup the back of her neck, urging her to turn her head and she did, allowing him to angle his head to kiss her. And for the first time, this kiss was soft, less about passion than the gentle intimacy of touching lips and exploring tongues.

_God, he was a good kisser. _

The kiss ended slowly as she opened her eyes to meet his, dark in the dimness of her room but she knew how impossibly blue they were.

"Will you have dinner with me tomorrow or whenever we solve the Sokol case?"

_We. _ He really wasn't planning on leaving either the precinct or her. She couldn't help her smile. "Are you asking me out on a date, Castle?" Did this mean she was Rick Castle's girlfriend now? Ridiculous thought.

His lips curved into one of his real smiles, not a smirk. "Yes, I want to take you out."

She felt an absurd flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She just… _liked_ him, maybe even more than she'd ever admitted to herself. And it seemed like he really cared about her. For the first time since they'd met, the idea of an actual relationship with Castle didn't seem ludicrous. Rather, the possibility, the hope, of it felt real, tangible. Oh lord, she wanted it, wanted _him_.

"So we can debrief each other?" she asked, quoting his invitation to her months ago.

His smile slipped a little as he recognized the words and, no doubt, remembered her response then. But everything was different now—well, okay, not _everything_ because she had wanted him then too.

"Hmm," she lowered her lips to hover just above his, "why don't you convince me."

He huffed a laugh before he rolled her over, trapping her beneath the weight of his body, one of his legs sliding between hers, as he kissed her, his tongue sliding into her mouth with devastating thoroughness before he moved on, stringing kisses along her jaw.

"Challenge accepted, Detective," he husked against her throat, nuzzling her neck with soft damp kisses, his lips and tongue somehow finding every sensitive spot that made her gasp and arch into him.

And her last coherent thought was that if this was what being Rick Castle's girlfriend was like, she could really, really get used to this—and enjoy every minute of it too.

_~The End~_

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers!


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